Stolen Moments
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Lestrade and Hooper, their love story behind the scenes. [Tiny Lestrolly snippet(s), set in TAB.]
1. Chapter 1

**Stolen Moments**

Lestrade blew out a sigh as Watson exited the morgue, and heard the equally as unhappy breath hissed out through clenched teeth coming from Hooper. "One day down, eh?"

"I despise it when he works a case. Both him and that Doctor Watson," Hooper retorted.

"I know, but..." Lestrade trailed off, looking towards the bloodied message on the wall. "If ever a case for Sherlock Holmes..."

"... Yes," Hooper replied shortly.

They stared towards the message for a long, silent minute. The morgue around them was quiet, but the presence of the body chained down on the table in front of them was overwhelming.

Next to him, his companion shivered.

Without looking away from the wall, Lestrade brushed his knuckles up against Hooper's, the slightest touch of re-assuring. _We will be fine; Holmes will solve this case._

Hooper did not move away.

* * *

 **A/N: Established relationship Victorian!Lestrolly; I intended to go so much deeper with this but this seem suitable just as it was. That being said, in the separate next chapter, a little more _obvious_ Lestrolly if this wasn't enough for you. xP**


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade ran his fingers through Hooper's hair, trailing fingers through the unkept strands without worry for propriety. They were safe, tucked away in his little flat. The fire had yet to be lit and the curtains had already been drawn earlier. The semi-darkness around them made things more simple, the reveal of a complex lie in the light unfolding in the unseen shadows.

"At least let me take all of this off," Molly spoke, finally devoid of the irksome, unwelcome voice that she used all through the day. Her disguise in order to keep the profession originally intended for man alone...

Lestrade knew that this, too, could backfire, just like occasionally inviting a private consultant to assist on their cases. He much preferred the days where Molly was at home, or out with friends, doing as a woman should. Every time that he had brought it up, however, he was silenced by a look that barely could bode well on the face of your lover, and, much like with Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade shut his mouth and kept it closed. He could turn a blind eye. Now and then, it was necessary.

He did not pull away from his position, hands in her hair, forehead pressed against hers. He wanted nothing else but to kiss her again - which he did. The gentle brush of her lips against lips, chaffed from the cold, and the scratch of the bristle of the false moustache that Lestrade loathed, and only then did he pull away slightly. "I've wanted to do that since the cab," he admitted, and smiled at her sheepishly.

Molly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as he was. "Did Holmes give you a hard time today, then?"

Lestrade scowled, taking a step away. "He's going to give me an ulcer is what he's going to give me."

"Does he have any new leads on the bride murders?"

"No..." Lestrade fell back into the armchair. In a moment, he would straighten and go to the fire to chase the chill away from his home, but for now, he simply watched as Molly took off the false moustache - thank heavens above. "He says most of them are murders disguised as being the bride's work."

"Oh?" Molly had removed the wig and Lestrade watched her long brown hair fell in cascading waves down around her shoulders. He loved her hair as much as he loved her voice, the colour that stained her cheeks and lips, and every other thing about her.

He wanted to push his weary bones to his feet again and drag his fingers through her hair, her real hair, and kiss her face without the notion that it looked as though he were kissing a man. He wanted to remove the vest, and the cravat, and the collared shirt she wore beneath it. He wanted to remove the suspenders, and the trousers, and her shoes and socks and underthings. Take her to the bedroom and ravish her from the unknowing display she was so carelessly putting on, removing her disguise in front of him.

Lestrade swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. "... Yes." Talking about Holmes and the strange case of Emelia Ricoletti no longer sounded interesting.

"You're staring, Mr Lestrade." Was that a twinkle of humour in her eyes?

Lestrade looked away. "Apologies."

"Oh, I didn't say it was a bad thing."

She would be the death of him, if Holmes and Watson's antics didn't prematurely kill him first.

"I rather thought you intended to woo me tonight, Mr Lestrade."

"Yes, well-"

"Come over here and kiss me, then."

That was one request that he could not refuse. The setting sun had finally sank beneath the horizon entirely now, and so, after catching flame to a match to light one of the lamps, Lestrade crossed the room back to Molly and drew her into a passionate kiss. Their shadows cast by the flickering light were their only witness to their secrets revealed, as Lestrade combed his fingers through Molly's long hair, and she traced the pads of nimble fingers against his cheek as they kissed.

"Not a bad start to the night... Greg."

Lestrade's lips twitched towards a smile against hers, and he grabbed her hand to pull her back into the chair he had only just vacated.

* * *

 **A/N: Now I will scream: WHY IS IT SO HARD TO WRITE LESTROLLY MY GOSH THIS IS ONE I ACTUALLY SHIP 100% WHY DO I HAVE SO MUCH TROUBLE. Molly seems to be incredibly less mousy in this verse, so that helps a little; hopefully I wasn't _too_ OOC with it, but she's definitely pulling her own in tAB, as she continues to do throughout the series. Anyway, I just like the idea of Lestrade and Molly having a secret romance; they have to play even more lowkey since they know her as a man, but I can't seem to write it well enough so let me just put the mental picture in your mind. xD**

 **Please ignore any inaccuracies! (Or typos, lol)**

 **I do not own _Sherlock_. Thanks for reading!**


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